


Wet

by wevegotworktodo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 09:18:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7929244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wevegotworktodo/pseuds/wevegotworktodo





	Wet

It was a beautiful day outside, sun shining, not a cloud in the sky. Of course, that’s what the weather channel said anyway, you hadn’t actually been out of the bunker in a couple of days. The three of you were starting to feel a little stir crazy, getting a little snappy with one another, needing a case, or a bar, or a release of some sort. 

Last night you’d binged on some Netflix with Dean, laying on the couch, head in his lap, cozy as two friends could be. Before you knew what you were doing you had unbuttoned his pants, wrapped your lips around his hard cock, and bobbed your head until he was spilling down your throat. 

Dean wakes you up, head still in his lap, a small puddle of drool now on his pants leg, Netflix screen asking if you’re still watching. Fuck! It was just a dream. You sit up, rubbing your eyes with the backs of your hands. Dean stretches his arms above his head, a small strip of skin showing where his tee rides up at his waist. That’s when you notice your panties are wet. Certainly not the first time you’d become aroused in his presence, probably not the last either. You scurry off to rub one out, fantasize about Dean in the privacy of your own room. 

Now it’s noon. Hell, maybe a little later by the way Sam looked at you when you finally made your way to the library, bowl of cereal in hand. “Glad you finally decided to grace us with your presence.” He barely looks up from the book his nose is buried in. 

“Who’s us?” You ask, sarcasm thick in your voice. 

He rolls his eyes, knowing he’s the only other one in the room, and you had to be the smart ass to point it out. “Dean’s in the garage.” His tone is flat when he gives you his patented bitch face, hoping you’ll either go away or just be quiet, either would be fine at this point. 

You pick up on it, knowing you’re way too grumpy to be pleasant company right now, so you pick up your bowl, heading to the kitchen to eat alone. An hour later you’re bored out of your mind, figure maybe you can talk Dean into going for a drive. Whatever work he’s doing in the garage will have to be tested out, right?

That’s when you check the weather, throw on a pair of jean shorts and a light pink tank in anticipation of the heat, and head on up to the garage. Dean’s there all right, in his own pair of cut off jeans, t-shirt, leaning over Baby’s hood, sponge in hand, soaping her up. You notice the wet concrete surrounding several of the other vehicles, figure he’s been doing this a while and is just getting started on the Impala. You take a moment to admire Dean from behind, the bow of his legs, the thick of his thighs. 

The music is up, classic rock blaring, almost echoing off the walls. Dean is singing along, hasn’t even noticed you've walked in yet. You think for a minute, wonder if the hell he’s gonna put you through for this is worth it, decide that it is. You pick up the water hose, point it straight at Dean, and squeeze the nozzle. 

Oh yea, he’s fucking pissed, it’s clearly written on his face, for about two seconds. He rushes toward you, laughing, slinging suds and water at you from the sponge. You run, giggling, squeeze the handle again, this time hitting baby more than you do Dean. He comes closer, tries a fake out move, but you’re good, pick up on it and manage to slip away. He’s faster than you, that's a given, but the floor is slippery, working to your advantage. 

When he catches you, he’s soaked head to toe. You’re both still laughing, even when he sprays the both of you right in the face while you fight for the nozzle. You're soaked too, braless, nipples hardened under the cool moisture that feels so good against your hot skin. 

You turn away from him, still wrestling and spraying, tucking the end of the hose into your stomach, both hands around it. He’s behind you, arms wrapped around your waist. You bend at yours, hoping for some leverage. Not meaning to but your ass grinds directly into his crotch, and….oh, hello! There’s a bulge. You stop fighting and he loosens his grip. Shit! He knows that you know. But he doesn’t exactly pull away altogether, just enough to let you straighten up and turn around. 

He’s been caught, his attraction to you very evident now, so he waits for your reaction. His eyes are wide, hopeful, searching yours for an answer to the lingering question here. You’re caught off guard, surprised, can’t believe this shit is actually happening. You open your mouth to speak, but only broken noises come out. 

Dean’s sure that you’re trying to find a way to let him down easy so he drops his head and goes to turn away. You catch the tail of his shirt, and he freezes. You pull, dragging him back to you, closer this time. The slight glimmer on his face turns into a shy, crooked smile when you slip your fingertips under the seam of his shirt and up his chest. You grin, mischievously, and bite your bottom lip before searching out his eyes. He’s staring at your mouth, his tongue darts out, wetting his own lips, and now you’re the one staring. 

The tension is palpable, there’s a lump in your throat, heart’s going pitter patter, thumping in your ears. Dean takes a step forward, pressing his chest against yours, your back against the wall. He dips his head, no more hesitation, kisses you hard, needy. 

 

You slide out of Baby’s backseat and all but have to peel your sweat soaked skin off of her leather seats. Dean smiles at you as he closes the door behind you. “What’da ya say we take a real shower?”


End file.
